A tan streak shot down the crowded street, papers were strewn and skirts flew up. "HEY YOU, KID, WATCH WHERE YOUR GOIN'!" Dismissing the shouts of profanity and anger at his jet-boarding, Prak sped down the line and off a ramp. He used the propulsion from the board to swing off the upcoming pole. He lowered himself slightly to move even faster. He was moving so fast he didnt notice the outstretched arm a few yards away.
Too late. CRACK! The arm hit him right in the gut. The board went spinning in the other direction and hit a wall resulting in a small explosion. Prak lay there clutching his stomach, winded he rose shakingly to his feet. "What *splutter* the hell?" He turned to face the arm that had been in the way. This guy was strange, he was wearing a ski cap, but it had two small moving bumps on the top. This person was apparently in a four-against-one against a group of teens that had messed Prak up recently for "Chillin' on their turf". Prak's P.O.V.
Ok, lets get this strait, I'm not one to pick sides in a conflict, but if I had bet on this fight, my money would have been with the man in the ski cap. They rushed him. If I were gonna sum up this descision in two words, they would be, bad idea. This guy chewed 'em up spit 'em out and then spat a big ol' loogie on top of that. And it all went down in less than a minute.
So, anyway they rushed him. He caught one in the face with his clenched fist, grabbed him by his neck and tossed him at the middle one. One drew a gun. This guy couldn't be phased at all! I dont know what he did, but in a matter of seconds it was out of his hand and twisted into a hunk of useless metal. He ran up the wall, did a forward flip and landed a kick to the other one's kneecap.
Woah. Woah. I stood there dumbstruck. The ski-cap guy started to leave. I grabbed him by the shoulder and swung him around. "Hey, you really need to tea..." He thought I was one of the punks. I sank to my knees. "Nonono, you've got it all wrong I'm not with them,"
"Who are you then?" He asked, raising his fist. I tried to forget that the fist was looming over my head like a... well, a fist about to punch me out.
"Th' names Prak," I outstreached my hand in friendship. "Who're you?" He lowered his fist, spun on his heel, and walked away from me. "HEY, C'MON!" "COME BACK HERE!"